


Sweltering

by trashfortimmy



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: Hot Sex, Hot and Sweaty, LITERALLY, M/M, Oral Sex, Peaches - Freeform, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rimming, Shameless Smut, Sweat, a lil bit gross, flowy prose about sex, they sweat a lot, this is my spot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-02-27 13:40:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,284
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22217941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashfortimmy/pseuds/trashfortimmy
Summary: “This is it, this is the spot.”In which Elio shows Oliver allll the spots ;) ;)
Relationships: Oliver & Elio Perlman, Oliver/Elio Perlman
Comments: 27
Kudos: 104





	Sweltering

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this to cheer myself up. It's my birthday and I'm sick, plus I'm so ready for winter to be OVER. So I decided to bring back our boys in those sweaty, hot summer days and see what kind of fun they could get up to when left alone together.
> 
> I'm not great at dialogue, so if you don't mind reading descriptive prose about tongue-fucking then this is for you.
> 
> Enjoy!!

_“This is my spot. It’s all mine.”_

A phrase Elio had uttered with pride, narrow chest puffed out. He’d wanted to show Oliver the berm, see how he fit. Wanted to test Oliver against the idyllic backdrop where he’d spent many hours imagining countless scenarios with someone strikingly similar to the man currently occupying his bedroom.

After he’d introduced Oliver to the berm, and vice versa, he thought of more special places he could show Oliver.

He showed him the spot where he’d grazed his knee, falling from a low-hanging limb of an apricot tree. He showed him the spot where he’d had his first thought about another boy. And the spot here his father had shown him a nest with eggs blue as a summer sky, and told him how babies grow. And also the spot he’d first seen Oliver’s face in a tiny picture clipped to his application for the summer internship at the villa.

With each spot he revealed, it felt like revealing a part of himself. He was shedding his outer layers, stripping himself of all pretense and showing Oliver what was underneath. 

He wanted Oliver to know.

And so under the guise of showing Oliver the place where he’d learned how to use a chainsaw (with the careful guidance of Anchise of course), they end up in the shed behind the villa. 

“This is it, this is the spot.” Elio looks just as proud now as he had then, but there is an additional gleam in his eyes, verdant and knowing.

Anchise had already left for the afternoon.

This spot would be all theirs.

The airless little shed could barely fit them both. Lawn and garden tools, although moderately organized, left little space for the two men to stand comfortably.

The blistering summer sun had already passed its peak but still had hours of burning hot rays left to give. 

The door and one small, lone window had been shut for some hours now, the air inside stale and stagnant. The shed’s climate is swampy, almost suffocating.

Both men are feeling the heat within moments of stepping inside.

Elio looks at Oliver, whose shirt was beginning to dot with sweat. Lips parted, he holds Oliver’s gaze unabashedly, staying still except for the slight increase in the rise and fall of his chest. Then all of a sudden, with the grace and agility of a jungle cat, he’s right there in front of him, hands going up either side of Oliver’s neck.

Looking up into Oliver’s face, a little furrow appears between his brows.

“You must be awfully hot,” he coos, flicking out his tongue. Without hesitation, Elio licks a stripe up the side of his face, catching a bead of sweat that had originated near the blonde hair at his temple.

“Mmm,” comes the reply, a half-groaned assent.

Oliver reaches out and finds Elio’s waist, gently touching it with his fingertips, just enough to steady himself.

And not a second too soon, because when Elio starts tonguing down his hairline, Oliver almost loses his balance. It’s as if Elio is trying to taste his sweat, needing to put as much of that salty fluid inside his body as he can. His delicate, musical fingers move down to the few buttons that are done up on Oliver’s shirt, freeing his chest and sliding the fabric from his glistening body. He then steps back to remove his own shirt under Oliver’s heated gaze, revealing skin that looks like it's a cool river to jump in. 

Oliver’s hands move on their own, without any forethought, slipping over Elio’s waist and meeting at the small of his back, where an oasis of moisture greets his eager grasp. His fingers slide through the wet pool, pressing into it as if to absorb it through his own skin.

As Oliver’s hands move tighter around his back, Elio presses his hips forward into space, finding contact with Oliver’s sweaty crotch and torso. 

“Oh fuck,” he breathes out, Oliver’s matching sigh against his temple. The feeling of Oliver’s drenched body against his own is divine.

They slide against each other, licking sweat from necks, breathing hot air onto cheeks, pressing burning kisses to collarbones and jawlines.

Elio takes Oliver’s face into his hands, licking a line across his top lip, catching the dampness that lingers there, before pulling back.

By this point he is absolutely glowing with sweat. In Elio’s eyes, he’d never looked more beautiful. Elio stares at him, taking in each drop beaded on Oliver’s gorgeous face. He’s close enough to count each of Oliver’s eyelashes, see the little trickle of sweat slipping down the slope of his nose. Getting even closer, Oliver’s breath is a flame on his skin. He swallows it up with a kiss, their burning lips melting into one as their mouths smash together.

Smoldering kisses and hot breaths exchanged between the two does nothing to help the muggy atmosphere inside the shed. They press together, their sweat mixing between them, as if absorbing each other drop by drop.

Oliver doesn't want to wait to devour him. Fingers slipping beneath Elio’s waistband, he finds the swell of his rear beneath damp fabric, the skin slick with moisture and radiating heat. Oliver smooths over the round globes, palms finding the peach-fuzz of soft hairs covering his ass. He noses at the boy’s neck and hums in his ear, a reminder of the sacred juices he’d ingested just a few days before, a mixture of Elio and ripened fruit. Elio buries his face in Oliver’s shoulder, just like he had done before, only this time in ecstasy at Oliver’s touch, and can't help the rocking of his hips, back into the hands covering his ass and forward into the meaty thigh between his legs.

As Elio continues to rock, his body becomes slick with sweat, drip by drip collecting into rivulets on his skin, connecting and linking up to form puddles, streams of liquid running down every available inch of him. The frequency with which droplets originate at his temples, his nether lip, the nape of his neck only increase as his body moves against Oliver’s, all those individual beads of water rushing towards each other in their downward descent, every drop of perspiration now a drizzle, an outpouring, a river of sweat. 

This was no longer a litmus test of their desire - no more experimentation, no more holding back. The floodgates had opened, a surging stream of want and lust sweeping them away. 

Oliver turns away, breaking contact only for a moment, grabbing Elio’s hand. As he walks, he clears a small path in front of him, brushing various shop tools and accoutrements out of the way with his feet. He leads Elio to the wall directly in between the door and the small window, spinning them around and pressing him up against the wood in one smooth movement. They take a moment to simply breathe against each other, ragged puffs of moist air wetting the space between them.

Holding Oliver’s gaze with a fixed stare, Elio starts turning, pushing slightly off the wall and spinning his body around slowly, oh so slowly, the movement seeming to literally cut through the dense air. He stops rotating when his ass is turned towards Oliver, who in turn immediately moves again into Elio’s space and presses up against his back, their sweat gluing them together. Oliver sighs into Elio’s neck, transferring the heat of his muggy breath onto his nape just as the heat of his cock pulses against Elio’s backside. 

In one swift motion, Oliver slides Elio’s trunks down as he slides down his body. Bending down so his face is level his pert little bottom, he peers up at the drops sliding down Elio’s back, running over the roundness of his ass, and finally collecting in the damp place between his thighs. Oliver leans forward and presses the broad of his tongue to the tiny crisscross pattern left behind by the mesh lining of his swim trunks. Remembering what put the marks there--the press of his own hips to Elio’s still-clothed bum, nearly-hard cock against the sweaty cleft--Oliver breathes out hot air and bites down. Tiny, quiet whimpers fall from Elio’s mouth at the sensation of Oliver’s teeth clamping onto the soft skin of his perky posterior, turning into sighs as he feels lips grazing the peach-fuzz dusting of hairs, Oliver’s mouth moving closer and closer to his opening with each pass.

Elio bites back a moan when Oliver’s hands are suddenly gripping his ass, pulling his cheeks apart with such force that they slide over the slick surface. Oliver watches as the skin bounces and wriggles when his hands slip and his fingers scrabble for purchase. He can’t get a solid grip, no matter how hard he tries, but that doesn’t stop him from diving in anyway, hot mouth meeting Elio’s dripping crevasse with clumsy intent. Oliver laps at the moist crack, musky scent all around him, wafting into the muggy air, catching drips of sweat that roll down Elio’s back and onto his tongue. Elio is absolutely drenched, perspiration mixing with the moisture from Oliver’s mouth at the center of himself, that small opening that gives way to his insides, his essence. He cries out as Oliver’s tongue breaches him, feeling so impossibly hot he thinks he might actually burst into flames. Additional droplets of sweat jump to the surface of his skin at each pass of Oliver’s tongue, splashing onto Oliver’s face as he continues to work Elio open. 

He hits a particularly sensitive spot with the point of his tongue, alternating between hard and soft licks, and Elio moans with the sensation.

“Right there?” Oliver asks, face barely moving back, voice dripping. 

“That’s the sp-” Elio starts, the words dying on his tongue as Oliver’s clever finger joins his mouth to find that delicious spot inside him over and over again. Oliver presses his face impossibly closer and Elio shakes with it, wanting Oliver to crawl inside him, live in there, take up root. 

Putting his hands on Elio once again, Oliver grips the flesh of his juicy peach, pressing into him and squeezing hard so his fingers don’t slip. His skin is tacky, sizzling hot. Oliver can tell he’s close, all ragged breaths and shaky thighs. Elio reaches back and grips Oliver’s wrist, nails digging into the soft skin on the inside, and feels his wild pulse.

With a good hold on him at last, Oliver’s grip slides to Elio’s hips, where he pushes with both hands in the same direction at once, spinning Elio around. As his trunks are still bunched around his thighs, he stumbles a bit, back colliding with the wall as he comes to face Oliver’s kneeling form. 

They stare into each other’s eyes as those extraordinarily adept hands slide over the front of Elio’s hips to his aching cock. Oliver wraps his palms around him, already slip-sliding along the length with the aid of both of their sweat. Elio’s head bumps into the wall behind him as bead after bead of precum oozes out of his dick. Oliver’s extremely talented and incredibly sweaty palms continue to move over his dick, pulling the warmth from his body one delicious stroke at a time. 

Tongue resting against his bottom lip, Oliver leans forward and places his open mouth at the tip of Elio’s cock, catching the dripping fluids with a swipe of his tongue. Elio’s head raises off the wall with a gasp and he looks down to see Oliver, red-faced and dripping, and watches as drop after drop of sweat runs down his face, all the way from temple to chin. Elio can barely breathe, the delicious pulls of Oliver’s hands and the muggy air making it difficult to take a full breath.

Oliver’s tongue starts exploring his slit and with that, he is done for. He starts to come with a view of Oliver’s sweat-darkened hair, his long eyelashes, his wet tongue exposed to the humid air. At the last second, Oliver puts his tongue back in the wet cavern of his mouth and moves Elio’s pulsing cock up to his belly, where he spills his seed over his own skin. He barely registers the vibrations of Oliver’s hum as he licks a stripe through the puddle of cum on his stomach. Elio doesn’t know how he isn’t a puddle himself, but then Oliver is standing, pulling up his trunks and holding onto his hips to steady him.

Oliver smirks down at the white streaks on Elio’s belly between them, tells him, “Don’t clean up.”

They look into each other's eyes, knowing what’s waiting for them later, the things they will do to each other in the quiet of night. There seems to be no stopping this need to live inside each other any longer, the desire to consume each other and themselves in the process. In Elio’s eyes is a promise: to return the favor, and then some.

Oliver was in all his spots now, in all his memories.

The noise of a car approaching startles them out of their lustful gazing, and they hastily pick up their discarded shirts as the sound of tires crunching on the gravel driveway carries into the shed. They quickly redress themselves, taking a small moment to smile at each other at the evidence not yet washed away, and move towards the door. Feeling drunk on each others fluids, they stumble and knock into each other in their haste to leave. They spill out of the entrance and into the golden light of day, giggling like idiots as they fall into one another.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a complete whore for comments, leave me one ;)


End file.
